Riding on Waves Made of Stars
by CastielAndTheBlueBox
Summary: Osgood James knew from a young age she was different. Her whole life was turned upside down when she was eight, and her parents told her she was adopted. From then on out, she made it her life mission to find him, even going as far as joining a secret organization and trying to find the mysterious 'Doctor' detailed on the back of her scarf. Title from 'Running Through Rivers'.
1. Prologue

_**A/N: Co-Written with FireBurnsBrighter**_

Sarah sighed, her hand going down to her swollen stomach. It wasn't long before the baby would be there, though not with her.

She was going to give it up for adoption, because the practicalities of being a mother, at her age and with a baby that was none other than the Doctor's... it wouldn't work. She couldn't take care of a child, especially not the child of a man who had left her, pregnant and alone, with nothing more than a scarf to remember him by. A scarf that he had quickly replaced, one that she had walked out of the TARDIS with, though it was hidden in her bag. She hadn't even looked at it until she was safely out of Aberdeen, back in South Croydon. Safe.

She didn't need to break into tears and have her heart aching in public.

And admittedly, while she was sitting there, sewing the words onto the back of that scarf, the heartache did return. But she had bigger things to worry about. Like the fact that not long from that moment, she'd be giving birth to a small version of herself. Of the Doctor. A baby she couldn't keep, because she knew she wouldn't be able to let it grow up normal. She'd tell it who it really was.

She finished the sewing, and admired it for barely a moment, until she felt it. A contraction. She wanted to stop it, she didn't want it to happen now, it couldn't happen now, could it? It was a bit early. Could she even go to a normal hospital?

But she couldn't think much longer, the pain was too much and she had to get _out._

* * *

A girl. It was a girl. She watched as it was cleaned up, but made it very clear it was to go up for adoption. She sighed, and when she was recovered, when she was feeling better, she went to see it. Her daughter.

The baby was innocent, beautiful, even. So small and perfect and wriggling in it's blankets. Full of energy, just like her father. With a sigh, Sarah looked down at the scarf in her hand.

She knew who she'd say it was from. She'd make sure the note was attached. Blame it on the old curator at the art gallery, say it was him because it was easier to say it was him, easier than to let a little girl grow up thinking she could track down her father.

So she put the scarf in beside her, and the girl pulled it up instinctively, like a blanket. Sarah scrawled a quick note, and put it in with the scarf. Making sure that one day she'd get it, and she'd think it was just a gift from a slightly crazy but nice old man who'd been... kind to Sarah. He looked familiar, though she couldn't quite identify where from.

She turned around, and bit her lip, glancing back at her daughter for the last time.

"Goodbye." she murmured, and looked down at the writing, at the part of the scarf facing her.

She walked out the room, hoping the little girl would heed her advice, however hazy it was, she needed to have something from her father, some information about him, even if she didn't know who he was.

The information on the back of his scarf that was simple, easy to remember.

_The Doctor will always protect you._


	2. Chapter 1

A/N; this chapter by fireburnsbrighter

* * *

_You're adopted, Osgood. But don't ever think that means that mummy and daddy love you any less! You're just a little bit different from your brothers and sisters._

You're just a little bit different.

Just a little bit, but enough that the other boys and girls at school laugh at you because you can't run as fast as them. Have to stop to wheeze into your inhaler, to push your thick glasses up the bridge of your nose. Won't ever take off the trailing multi-coloured scarf that you've had your whole life. Because you're not interested in giggling about boys and having your hair up in braids with special pink ribbons and drawing pretty pictures of flowers and bunny rabbits but instead you enjoy reading book after book about aliens and magic and science.

Because you're only eight years old, but you're adopted and you're already quite a lot different.

* * *

It doesn't change much, to be honest. Being adopted. The days go past and your parents look at you a little more cautiously than they used to as if they're scared that any minute you're going to break down in tears or smash something or scream until your throat is red raw and your voice coarse. But you don't do any of these things, even though you're only eight years old and you've just found out that you're adopted, because despite all of that you've always _known _you were _different _(again with that word), and now it's just been confirmed.

So you continue to read all of your strange books and playing on your own in the back garden, because that's what you've always done.

* * *

The only thing that shifts is your thoughts about that damn scarf that hangs around your neck. A blanket as a baby, something to snuggle into at night, keeps you warm in winter and far too hot in summer (though you'll never take it off no matter what your mum says or how many snickers you recieve at school).

The words tightly sewn on in black thread just above the tassles at the end are burned into your memory. Have been since your dad first read them out to you and in turn tought you to read them, but only now do you wonder what the meaning is behind them.

_The Doctor will always protect you. The Doctor will always protect you._

But surely it can't mean just the neighborhood call doctor. And why the capital?

The Doctor will always protect you. But Doctor _who?_

You have to know who the man is who supposedly watches over your life.


End file.
